


The Tempest

by Achellias



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: BRObi-Wan Kenobi, Comfort, Jedi Temple, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Master and Padawan bonding, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Pre-Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, Young Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achellias/pseuds/Achellias
Summary: Give me a tempest and I will weather it.Obi-Wan tries to sleep amidst his new apprentice’s swirling Force presence and a violent thunderstorm outside. Obviously, rest isn’t an option. Why couldn’t Qui-Gon have left him with an ordinary padawan?or: How Obi-Wan Kenobi Learned to Stop Worrying and Love His (Emotional Time-Bomb) Apprentice
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 165





	The Tempest

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, rubbing his eyes in a vain effort to quell the headache keeping him from the realm of sleep. There was a storm raging outside, the worst he had seen on Coruscant for some time. Flashes of lightning streamed through the shutters of his window, harshly illuminating the room for a millisecond before the world was plunged back into darkness. The occurrences were predictably followed by violent claps of thunder, so loud they seemed to threaten to rattle the very foundations of the Jedi Temple itself.

Qui-Gon used to look forward to such storms, whereas Obi-Wan was always much more keen to observe from a distance. His master had once said skillful sailors were not made on quiet seas, nor great warriors by unworthy opponents. There was a strange beauty the man seemed to find in such inhospitable and dangerous scenes, an eagerness to test himself against the elements, against the will of the Force itself. Obi-Wan thought that was a dangerous habit, and even more so a dangerously misguided philosophy. What was it Qui-Gon believed he achieved by taking such risks? It wasn’t becoming of a Jedi to play hawk and dove with their own lives like it was some game. Perhaps if Qui-Gon had recognized that he would still be here today.

The thought stung, and Obi-Wan instantly regretted it the moment it passed through his mind. It wasn’t becoming of a Jedi to harp on what might have been either, and he sighed, turning over in bed. It was difficult not to think of Qui-Gon at times like this, alone with nothing but his thoughts, and Obi-Wan had made a bad habit of wishing that his old master was still there, still guiding him, encouraging him, criticizing him. He’d take anything.

He was supposed to let these feelings go, to cleanse himself of them and release them into the Force. But he couldn’t; childishly, he supposed, he didn’t want to. To do so would be to let go of a part of himself, and Obi-Wan wasn’t ready to abandon Qui-Gon’s memory just yet. Traitorously, he wondered if he ever would be.

Obi-Wan rolled over in bed again, lightning crackling forebodingly behind the half-closed shutters once more before the thunder exploded in a deafening symphony above the clouds, the rain still pelting down unforgivingly. It was hard to achieve sleep in such a downpour, but this storm wasn’t the only one keeping him awake.

One was swirling right next door. 

Obi-Wan’s headache worsened as he turned his attention to the wall that divided his room and his padawan’s. It was strange, he thought, addressing someone else by that title, when, until recently, it had always been his.

He huffed into the side of his pillow. Anakin was an enigma only his late master had seemed to understand. What was it that drove Qui-Gon to so much trouble for this boy? His raw talent and striking Force presence perhaps, but the Council had openly expressed concern about the uncertainty of the child’s future. His power scared them. It scared Obi-Wan, as did the prospect of being responsible for him. He was doing it for Qui-Gon, he reminded himself time and time again, but he could not help feeling inadequate and more than a little unprepared. He was barely a real knight, just months out of his own padawanship, and Anakin was no textbook student. Of course he had to have been saddled with the most difficult apprentice the Order had ever seen.

Initially he was floored by the boy’s willfulness and his seeming dissatisfaction with every answer Obi-Wan provided him with, whether it may have been an explanation for something, or simply the word “no.”

Every response was _why_.

No, Jedi are not permitted to contact their families. _Why?_

No, Jedi act only at the behest of the Senate and the Supreme Chancellor. _Why?_

No, Jedi are not policing the intergalactic slave trade. _Why?_

Everything was _why why why why why why why why._

It drove Obi-Wan mad.

He never questioned his master in such a way, nor any of his other teachers or elders, as Anakin also had the bad habit of doing. He just accepted their explanation as he was supposed to. It was always, “Yes, Master,” or, “No, Master Qui-Gon,” or, “Thank you, Master.” Never this “why” nonsense.

Now, Obi-Wan had become somewhat accustomed to the boy’s insatiable hunger for knowledge, for the teachings Qui-Gon had passed down to him. He supposed he should be grateful Anakin was actually eager to learn, though his impatience did get the better of him sometimes, much to Obi-Wan’s chagrin.

He stared at the wall, blinking at the chaotic and tumultuous presence of his student behind it. Anakin was like a bright spot in the Force, difficult to look at head on and blindingly brilliant in almost every way. One could sense him from miles away, and Obi-Wan wondered if even non-Force sensitives might be able to see him for the living and breathing star that he was. 

The Force coiled and wreathed itself around him so intimately, so warmly, so powerfully, that Obi-Wan _had_ to entertain Qui-Gon’s theories about him. Was it a coincidence that they had happened upon this unlikely child at the exact time the Sith had returned to the galaxy? Some of the Council seemed to think not, the other Jedi, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure.

Just as naturally as the Force embraced Anakin in a tightly wound cocoon, his presence could be equally as disruptive, fearful, and wild. Like the storm that was quickly growing much worse than the one outside. He clenched his temples as the thunder roared again.

The boy’s presence was overwhelming, roiling and churning erratically in a barely self-contained hurricane. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have been able to sleep either way, and he doubted the other Jedi in the hall were having much luck either. He shifted under the sheet uncomfortably. He had had to apologize one too many times on Anakin’s behalf — now he would just be adding a poor night’s rest to that list for his neighbors. Embarrassment crept over him, mingling with a bitterness he thought he had already learned to overcome. Instead of tamping it down however, Obi-Wan let it sit, sinking to the bottom of his stomach like a rock. He frowned at his ceiling.

He would be having a stern chat with his padawan in the morning. Inwardly, Obi-Wan grimaced. He knew how much Anakin would appreciate that. It seemed that after every lecture or talking-to that the boy would shut down. He refused to make eye contact, speak above a whisper, and his presence dimmed significantly. It was like looking at a dying star where there had previously been a supernova. Obi-Wan feared what trying to contain such spirit might do to him, and the annoyance melted away, a tepid concern in its place.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Obi-Wan almost didn’t notice the movement of the storm behind his wall. _Almost_. It was quite difficult to ignore a tornado when it was swirling just outside your door. 

He turned his head slightly to see Anakin standing there, apprehensive, gripping his trembling hands tightly, the cyclone of distress inside him surging more violently than ever. He looked startlingly small in the doorframe, appearing as if he was anticipating another scolding. The boy seemed about to open his mouth when another strike of lightning seared across the sky, followed immediately by the loudest thunderclap yet, shattering his eardrums and drowning out the sound of the rain.

At that very moment, Obi-Wan sensed a sharp and sudden spike of fear within Anakin, witnessing in a split-second how the lightning illuminated his face as he stumbled back and braced himself against the door. He was absolutely _terrified_ , and Obi-Wan felt a wave of sympathy wash over him, his irritation forgotten.

The boy gracelessly recovered from the shock of the thunder, returning to his shaking and hunched posture. If he were quaking any harder Obi-Wan thought he might lose his balance and tumble right over.

“Master?”

His voice was barely audible, squeaking timidly. Obi-Wan had not seen him so wary since the day of Qui-Gon’s death. He pushed himself up a bit, leaning his elbow on his pillow.

“Anakin? What’s the matter?”

He knew very well what was the matter, it was obvious as another rumble in the clouds outside his window caused Anakin to flinch. The boy took a deep breath, working up the courage to speak.

“I couldn’t — I can’t sleep.” He didn’t quite meet Obi-Wan’s eyes.

He was awaiting judgement, Obi-Wan realized, a reproach for waking him — even though he hadn’t seen a wink of sleep all night — and then an order to go back to bed with the warning that they’d have a talk in the morning. Anakin fidgeted before him, his eyes darting to the window uncertainly before moving on to study the floor with increasing interest.

Obi-Wan sat up now, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He patted the slim mattress beneath him, a gesture to the padawan to sit. 

“Come, Anakin,” he coaxed, trying to shed the exhaustion from his tone.

The boy immediately accepted his offer, treading over to the bed and gingerly sitting down next to him, placing his hands politely on his lap. Obi-Wan noticed he was still quivering like a leaf.

“I — I’m sorry,” he stammered, looking up at Obi-Wan before losing confidence and dropping his head again. “I didn’t mean to keep you awake, I just—”

He was interrupted by another crack of thunder and Anakin immediately ducked behind Obi-Wan, clasping his hands over his ears and pressing his body into him. Obi-Wan startled at the sudden recoil, his off-guard expression slowly shifting into one of somberness.

 _Oh dear_ , he thought.

“Anakin?,” Obi-Wan asked, holding the boy’s forearms gently in a protective embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin mumbled miserably into Obi-Wan’s side. “I shouldn’t . . . I’m sorry.” He buried himself deeper into his mentor.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan tried again, “Whatever are you sorry for?”

He held his padawan’s trembling form, allowing the boy to come up for air as he sniffed, still clearly out of sorts. The rain continued to patter against the window, fading into rhythmic white noise. Anakin took a deep breath, shuddering as he exhaled. He finally looked at Obi-Wan eye to eye now, which seemed to take all of his willpower. Then it all came spilling out at once.

“Ididn’tmeantokeepyouawakehonestIdidn’tbutIcouldn’thelpiteventhoughIknowI’msupposedtoIjust—”

“Anakin.”

He immediately stopped, looking — Obi-Wan realized guiltily — fearful of what his mentor would say next.

He laid a hand on one of Anakin’s own. “You were frightened by the storm,” he deduced knowingly.

Anakin hung his head in defeat, and Obi-Wan, alarmed, could feel shame radiating off of him.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin apologized again. He didn’t look up from his lap.

Obi-Wan sighed inwardly, understanding his apprentice’s trepidation and discomfort now. _Patience_ , he reminded himself.

“Anakin,” he started softly, “It’s alright to be afraid sometimes.”

Anakin slowly lifted his head, looking torn. “That’s not what Master Windu says,” he mumbled.

Obi-Wan held back another sigh, staring sympathetically at his padawan. “What he means is that you can’t allow your fear to control you. It can impair your judgement and lead you to make poor decisions. It’s perfectly natural to feel scared from time to time. Even I get scared occasionally.”

Anakin only looked down at his open palms, clenching them and frowning solemnly.

“I . . . suppose you didn’t have these kinds of storms on Tatooine,” Obi-Wan presumed, attempting to curb the silence. Anakin only shook his head. “This is the first time you’ve ever seen a thunderstorm then?” The boy nodded this time, his eyes still locked on his hands.

The churning cloudburst swirling around Anakin was beginning to dissipate, though Obi-Wan could still detect the uneasiness he was emanating, despite his best attempts to project calm through their still new and fragile bond. He shifted, lying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“Do you know what scares _me?_ ,” Obi-Wan asked, and Anakin raised his head to look his mentor in the eye.

He looked grave. “What?” His voice was as quiet as a whisper.

A playful smile formed on Obi-Wan’s lips. “That my overeager padawan will never finish his reading assignments!” He gently jostled Anakin’s shoulder, and the boy’s countenance changed instantly, the storm fading to a light breeze.

“I have almost the whole alphabet down now, I do!,” he cried earnestly. “All the letters look the same though. I just . . . have a hard time telling some of them apart. That’s all.”

Obi-Wan nodded, his headache long gone as he beamed softly at his apprentice. “I know,” he replied, “And I am very proud of your progress. I know you’ve had to learn a great deal in a short span of time to catch up to your fellow students, but you have done better than I ever could have hoped, Anakin.”

“Really?,” the boy’s eyes were wide, reverent, as he soaked up the praise.

“Really,” Obi-Wan answered. He made a mental note to remind himself that commendment was necessary now and again; it was something Anakin saw less of than criticism, unfortunately, and Obi-Wan strove to change that. 

They smiled at one another, warmth filtering between them through their training bond. Anakin looked as if he were about to say something more when an ominous rumble cut through the air outside, and the padawan’s expression became unsure once again.

“Master?,” he started.

“Yes, Anakin?”

“I was wondering, if you wouldn’t mind . . . ” He trailed off before looking Obi-Wan in the face. “Can I stay here with you?”

Obi-Wan let his surprise bleed into his features, considering his young student. The boy had never looked so small, so exposed sitting there on the bed anxiously awaiting his master’s response. He let a hand fall on Anakin’s head, ruffling his hair a bit.

“Of course, my padawan.”

He lifted the sheet to shuffle back under it, holding it up to allow Anakin to crawl in after him. His apprentice nestled himself against him, curling his body in tight as if he were trying to preserve warmth. Obi-Wan absently realized that that must have been a necessary practice in the freezing night air on Tatooine, one that Anakin had yet to abandon.

As Obi-Wan lowered the sheet, a voice in the back of his mind protested. This was dangerous, the beginning of a perilous habit that defied the core tenants of Jedi teaching. This was attachment.

Against his better judgement, Obi-Wan ignored the warning, at last resting his head upon the pillow. The corners of his lips twitched up as he turned to gaze at his padawan, already fast asleep beside him. The road ahead would not be easy, but it was one they would walk together, and Obi-Wan was content with that, sparing one last glance at the boy before closing his eyes, a newfound peace greeting him.

The once violent maelstrom within Anakin had quieted, leaving a slowly stilling sea, the only evidence of the tempest being the remaining storm clouds that still shrouded the sky.

* * *


End file.
